


Relief

by civilsmile



Series: peace like a river [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: HYDRA Trash Party, Loving Objectification, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:04:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civilsmile/pseuds/civilsmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve tries to be a good handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny trash gift for the author of [this](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1634.html?thread=3802210#cmt3802210) amazing fill. Obviously not meant to be those lovely and nuanced characters, just ~500 words of utter ridiculousness because I couldn't stop thinking about Steve doing the Asset (i.e., the Asset finally getting its way). Thank you again! <3
> 
> Now with gorgeous accompanying artwork [here](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com/post/141355822008/so-the-lovely-anonymous-prompter-to-this-fic-left).

The first time Steve hurts the Asset, he almost laughs with relief, because it's _obvious_. He hasn't let it come for a week, just used it and kissed its poor face and shoved it gently to the floor, and then tonight he'd put it on its back in his bed and cuffed its metal hand to the slatted headboard and teased at its gorgeous tits, licking and pinching and softly biting, until it was whining and desperate. "You're such a slut," Steve told it, "look at you, begging for a hand on your dick." Which was playing with fire, kind of, except for how the Asset moaned and melted a little underneath him. "Have you earned it, do you think? Have you been good? Or should I let you wait another week?" The Asset gasped out the only response it could give— _Whatever you want, Steve_ —and Steve wrapped a hand around its straining cock and gave permission and brought it off with a few easy strokes. And then, curious to see how it would respond to the overstimulation, he kept going, pumping its softening cock while it writhed and panted and said _Steve, Steve, please_ , until it went abruptly still and made a sound of pure misery and turned its face sharply away from him. "Sorry," Steve says now, "sweetheart, I'm sorry," and he unlocks the cuff (silly, but the Asset likes it, and resistance is fucking futile) and lets the Asset curl onto its side and bury its face against his thigh. He pets its pretty, sweat-damp hair. His heart is racing, and he feels a little sick, but the dominant emotion is relief. Because that answers _that_ question. 

Steve hopes the Asset isn't going to apologize, or thank him for stopping, which would just be depressing. It doesn't, though. What it says, after a minute, is, "I didn't like that." And cue the choirs of fucking angels, because they'd practiced that, but it's one thing in the abstract and quite another when the Asset is naked in its handler's bed. 

Steve leans down to kiss its shoulder, the tip of its ear, the top of its tousled head. "Okay," he says. "Thank you for telling me. You're so good for me, letting me know, just like we practiced. I'm—" He can't keep apologizing; it freaks the Asset out. "I'm not interested in doing anything you don't like. Not ever, okay? I won't do that again." 

The Asset reaches up to tug at his arm, and Steve lets himself be pulled down until they're lying next to each other, the Asset tucked against his chest. He drags the covers over them. "I _know_ ," the Asset says, and Steve can practically hear it rolling its eyes. "Idiot." And yeah, that's fair: the Asset's got his number. It can't say _no_ to him, it can't say _stop_ , but it knows damn well he doesn't want to hurt it. 

Steve's still hard, but it'll go away, and he appreciates the fact that the Asset isn't offering to do anything about it. Two steps forward, one step back, though, because now that Steve's got the Asset safe in his arms, it makes a little worried sound and says, "Hey. I didn't. I wasn't. Begging." 

Which makes it Steve's turn to say, "I know." He kisses the Asset again, because he wants to be everything it needs, and he does a pretty good job, he thinks, most days, but he's learned to look after his own heart too. "You were perfect." At least he knows what it looks like now, to hurt, to force: the unhappy noise, the frozen acquiescence. It'll give him nightmares, probably, but it's not the nightmare scenario, the one where he really can't tell, the one where he's living in a sick fantasy and the Asset endures his touch because it has no choice. When Steve wakes up in the morning, the Asset will be on the floor again, in its preferred spot—but for now Steve holds on, and lets himself begin to relax.


End file.
